She might have seen him had she looked.

He remained standing where he was, listening to the trickle of rain in the water-butt.

The hollow countryside lay beyond him.
Sometimes in the windy darkness he could see the red burn of New Brunswick bank, or the brilliant jewels of light clustered at Bestwood Colliery.

Away in the dark hollow, nearer, the glare of the electric power-station disturbed the night.

So again the wind swirled the rain across all these hieroglyphs of the countryside, familiar to him as his own breast.
A motor-car was labouring up the hill.